The Day I Put On My Big Girl Pants
Stacey Dorenfeld
The day it happened was the culmination of a life of turmoil and wandering, but I couldn’t look away and couldn’t stop the forces propelling me forward.
The road began nearly decades ago on a dark, dirty street in North Hollywood, California. I was surrounded by what I called my family: a drug addict prostitute mother, a drug dealing child molester stepfather, and an off-the-rails mentally ill brother — , the makings for glory. I forgot the genius father who left us, built a successful law practice, and never looked back.
I had a genuinely insane childhood. There is no other way to put it. When you are a child, you don’t have a say about what you must endure. You simply endure. Being told I wasn’t smart and would not amount to anything beyond a desk clerk did not help my self-esteem. Even with all this, something inside told me never to give up on myself because, secretly, I knew I would amount to more. I’d prove them all wrong!
By the time I was 18, I was a college student with my own apartment and two jobs. I fell in love, but it was a love born from struggle; two wounded souls trying to mend each other. We were always on a roller coaster of breakups and makeups. I replaced one chaos for another. What else would any screwed-up teenager do?
By 23, my mother killed herself, my brother was in prison, and I had no boyfriend and an absent father. For the first time, I was utterly alone.
It took some time, but I got used to my mom being dead. In fact, it made life easier. I did not have to take care of her, worry about her, or deal with drugs, needles, and strange men that made my skin crawl. I may not have been happy she was dead, but for the first time in my life, I was breathing a little easier. The other side of this relief was the guilt I assigned myself. “If only I did this or if only, I did that, she would still be here.” My brother being incarcerated was also a mixed blessing. I did not have to drive all over town trying to save him from the crack and heroin on the streets. My life suddenly became more manageable. Unfortunately, I lived with a head filled with a hundred voices reminding me that I failed miserably as a daughter and a sister.
So, what should a girl do when her entire life is shattered? Get as far away from Los Angeles as possible. A couple of months later, I decided to move to New York City. I had never been before, but it did not matter. The agony of suicide, neglect, and abuse overtook my soul. I sold my Toyota Celica, stored all my things, and purchased a one-way ticket to New York. For the first time in my life, I felt free.
Fast forward a few years, I had married my college love, and three kids came along with the relationship. A bad fall from several years prior, depression and messy family relationships created a perfect storm. I began to dabble with opiates. It grew into a raging addiction that tore at the fabric of my life until I was hanging on by a thread. No matter how much I tried to find light, there was only darkness. I sunk deeper and deeper; until one day when my greatest fear came true. I became my mother.
Addiction became my coping mechanism and took me down a path of pain, sadness, and isolation. There were three children, a husband, dogs, a beautiful home, and one missing piece: me.
I found myself in a dark hole more frightening than the nightly visits from my stepfather. I hated who I had become, and even more, I hated myself for the deep scars I was causing my family.
My addiction ended the day I stared at a woman in the mirror I did not recognize. I wondered where I had been for so long. I was living like I deserved to be dead, and that was about to change.
The woman in the mirror took control and put on her big girl pants.
That is the beauty of life. I delivered the love to myself I needed to grow and change, or I would die.
I found myself craving to be different, a better version of myself. A small, still voice came to me and told me I did not have to be defined by my past. Like a butterfly, I slowly metamorphosized into the strong woman I always dreamed of being.
It happened slowly, yet all at once. I always wanted to be a writer but never had the mental clarity or self-respect to allow myself to grow into one. With my renewed self, I launched a blog (staceyinsideout.com) writing about my changes, my life, and, most importantly, the world around me.
I had had glimpses of success in the past, like starting an inspirational jewelry line that was featured at breast cancer events and the Grammy’s, but with my new sense of clarity and sense of self my writing was crisp, and my emotions were raw, and I was ready for more.
I joined an incredible Jewish women’s volunteer organization, Hadassah, and took a flyer on a trip to Sacramento to participate in a yearly conference. Little did I know that a lion was about to be unleashed.
It wasn’t long before I began advocating for issues close to my heart, and the 300,000 women I represented. I soon launched into traveling around the country to speak, be heard, and most importantly, be seen by others seeking to find and use their voice.
I worked on legislation including women’s autonomy over their bodies, gun control, human trafficking, and fighting the scourge of all prejudice, but mostly antisemitism, which lurked in the background of my entire life. I spearheaded the passage of anti-human trafficking legislation which became CA SB225 and promptly began participating in a national campaign for common-sense gun control. I met with legislators all over the country and brought my sisters with me. I had a purpose!
It was clear that to become whole I had to look past myself, past my history, and focus on serving others. I knew I had to be part of the change. The stranglehold on my soul was released. My life was changing, and my family was healing. The simple act of reaching beyond my past and allowing access to parts of me long ignored sparked something in me that has continued to burn with a passion.
The self-fulfillment in these accomplishments satiated my thirst for importance. More importantly, it motivated me to do more. The true gift of this awareness was seeing the impact of my actions on my fellow sisters who were on these journeys with me. I saw women’s minds, hearts, and souls open and become aware of their voices as they walked into the world with a new sense of being, purpose, and self-realization.
Each time I brought a group to a meeting with a Senator or Representative, women came to me with tears in their eyes, amazed at the strength, fortitude, and dedication that they experienced. They awoke to a part of them they did not know they had. Each time I had this experience, I reflected on how detached I was from that part of me. Seeing it alive in others fueled my ongoing journey. I cannot turn back and cannot slip back into emptiness.
I have learned that we all need to shine bright for ourselves, but the brightest light we have is the light we share to illuminate the path for those walking with us. I forge ahead not for myself, not for the causes, not for the glory, but for the people with whom I walk. I am determined to remain a light on the pathway for others and to never forget the light in me.
The changes in my life didn’t come without struggle; my kids, who saw me shine elsewhere, highlighted my absence in their lives for so long. I was forced to acknowledge the loss I created in them and the foundation and cohesiveness they were deprived of while I floundered in my head, seeking to avoid who and what I was and what I could become. I now appreciate what I kept from them: ME. Forgiving myself for the pain I caused my family is constant. I am often confused about who that woman was, because she certainly was not the woman staring at me in the mirror today.
Nowadays, I get to fight for others who can’t fight for themselves. Now, I push for real change and can stand up and tell the story of my not-so-perfect life. Now my kids get to see me as I am: flawed, whole, and authentic.
Being a role model was something I never thought myself to be, but here I am. If I can get through my not-so-perfect life, so can you, as long as you are not afraid to put on your big girl pants.
